


Elegy of Year's Past

by orphan_account



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3RACHA, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Lee Minho | Lee Know, Cigarettes, Eventual Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn, Smoking, Smut, Tender Sex, Tenderness, Top Han Jisung | Han, god so much slow burn, just how i like it ladies!, kind of ?, maybe? idk what is tender sex, minho is in love with jisung and it's a pisces venus mood, they briefly talk about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: elegy; noun: a pensive or reflective poem that is usually nostalgic or melancholic~~~~~They were just friends who fucked each other sometimes, that's all. Minho didn't mean to fall in love with him - and now it was impossible to fall out.Or, Minho and Jisung are friends with benefits, Jisung moves away and Minho convinces himself that he's not in love with him anymore, but then Jisung comes back and Minho realizes that of course he's still in love.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 30
Kudos: 578





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my drafts from September and I'm lonely and obsessed with tenderness and love so I listened to the song "Baisri" by Chapavich Temnitikul and transcended and wrote the rest. Sorry if it's bad - smut makes me shy lmao. Also it's mentioned in the tags but there are mentions of smoking, cigarettes, and implied drug use! Should also mention that I do not know any of the members, I am not assuming a sexuality for any of them! This is fiction!

When Minho had met Jisung, it had been an accident. It was spring, and the rain came down in heavy sheets against the windows of his university arts building, and he didn’t have an umbrella. 

He had made the trek to the building’s store, but by the time he arrived, it had long been closed. He tried calling Chris and Changbin, who he knew were on campus working on an assignment, but neither of them answered. So he took the elevator to the music department’s floor, walking around in what seemed like circles until he finally came to the recording studios. He knew he didn’t have the authorization to check the booth, but he didn’t think poking his head in to take a little peek would hurt. He just needed to find his friends, take one of their umbrellas, and go home.

“Are you supposed to be here?” somebody behind him asked.

Minho yelped at the sound, turning around so fast he knocked the drink out of the stranger’s hands. He watched as chocolate milk spilled into a puddle at both their feet.

“Shit,” Minho said, his ears burning. “I’m so sorry.”

He always kept a towel in his bag on days when he had a dance class, so he pulled it out and started sopping up the spilled milk. The stranger in front of him just stared down at him and watched.

“I’m really sorry,” Minho said again sheepishly. He walked over to a trash can and wrung out the liquid.

“Do you have the studio booked?” the stranger asked calmly. 

Minho blinked. “What?”

“The recording studio,” the stranger pointed, “do you have it booked?”

Minho stared at him dumbly. “I, um…”

“Yo, Jisung!” 

Both of them turned to see Changbin and Chris walking down the hallway towards them. When Chris realized Minho was there, he made a face and pointed at him. 

“Minho, what are you doing here?” he asked. 

“I was looking for you,” Minho whined. “I need an umbrella but you assholes weren’t picking up your phones so I came looking for you here. You said you were working on a recording assignment."

The boy standing in front of him - Jisung - visibly sighed with relief. “Oh, thank god, you didn’t book the studios.”

Chris turned back to him. “Why would anybody book the studios? You were supposed to have the studios booked.”

Jisung shot him a mischievous grin. As Chris realized what had happened, he began whining about how Jisung needed to be more responsible, and how could he not have had the studios booked, and what would have happened if the studios _had_ been booked? Jisung just stood there seemingly half listening while Changbin pushed past them all and hobbled into a booth. 

Minho ended up staying to watch them record. He gave the excuse that he would just go home later with Chris and Changbin, but really, he just wanted to watch this Jisung guy. He was so strange and it intrigued him. 

When Jisung finally stepped into the recording booth, Minho turned to Changbin, who was sitting on the couch fiddling with his phone while Chris checked the audio levels. 

“Changbin,” Minho said, poking his side.

“What?” Changbin muttered absentmindedly.

“Who is this guy?” he nodded towards the booth.

Changbin looked up, glanced at Jisung for a moment, then stared back at his phone. “Some kid in our class. He’s really good at rapping, so Chan wanted to record some tracks with him for the next album. We’re thinking of recruiting him and being a trio.”

Minho nodded. He watched as Chris gave the go ahead for him to start, and the instrumental track filled the studio. Then, Jisung opened his mouth and started to rap. It was a slower song, and his voice sounded like velvet, but he still managed to keep a steady, quick pace. 

Minho was captivated by him.

He hung onto every syllable that fell from his lips, his eyes locked on the way he delivered the rap with every part of his body. And when he stopped, he realized he had been gripping the edge of his seat. 

This was when he realized that Jisung was dangerous, that he was a drug that Minho could never get enough of. 

After that, the two of them had been inseparable. As time went on, Minho found himself calling Jisung when he needed an extra umbrella, or texting Jisung in the middle of the night about a drama he was watching, or meeting up with him to eat snacks until their stomachs would burst. 

He remembered when Chris first sat him down and asked, “Are you and Jisung dating?” 

Minho had simply blinked at him, his fingers shaking as he gripped his cup of iced coffee.

“No,” he said. “We’re just friends.”

He didn’t really remember when they’d shared their first kiss, or when their kisses became more fervent, or when they eventually found themselves fucking. But that’s all it was: just friends who kissed in the dark, just friends who fucked, just friends. 

They were so different, one calm and steady like coal embers, the other fast and explosive like a wildfire. Minho was longing gazes, the brush of fingertips against the back of wrists, kisses half illuminated in the back of a dimly lit alley; Jisung was piercing stares, sheepish grins pulling at the corner of lips, breathless mouths pressed together at 2AM when they both had too much to drink. 

And yet, Minho always found himself at the end of those nights standing in the doorway of Jisung’s apartment, staring at the younger boy with pleading eyes, hoping he would understand. Hoping he would see the longing, the yearning, the aching in his heart. But Jisung’s grip on Minho’s waist always faltered, his lips always planted that final, parting kiss. And Minho would always turn on his heels, feet like cinder blocks across the floor as he made the trek back his own box of a home.

“ _Won’t you stay the night?_ ” Minho always hoped Jisung would ask. 

The worst nights were the ones when he’d had a little too much to drink or when he had one too many cigarettes or when the smell of Jisung’s cologne lingered on his clothes. Those were the nights when he lay in bed staring at the glaring light of the moon and wondered if Jisung was thinking about him too. Those were the nights when he clawed at the empty space beside him, wishing there was the warm weight of a body next to him, breath slow and shallow and warm against his neck, feet a little cold against his legs, but comforting all the same. 

The day that Jisung told Minho he was leaving was one of those nights. 

They’d been at a bar where Chris, Changbin, and Jisung performed a set of songs from their latest EP. As always, Minho watched from the back of the bar, staring in awe at his friends’ performances. No matter how hard he tried, though, it was always Jisung where his eyes would become fixated whenever they performed. The way he effortlessly delivered each note, each movement of his hand or foot to the beat of the song, the way his skin and eyes glowed underneath the too-bright spotlights. All of it captivated Minho. And it terrified him to know that Jisung had this pull on him. 

After their sets, a group of them would usually go back to someone’s house for celebratory drinks or food or both. That night, though, everyone was quiet as Chris packed away his computer and Changbin cleared away the mics. Jisung meandered over to Minho, a cigarette already dangling from his mouth. 

“Let’s go,” Jisung murmured, reaching for Minho’s hand. 

Minho was too aware of the way Chris watched them from the stage, the way Changbin’s eyes struggled to keep looking away. Something turned in his stomach, but he didn’t know why. 

“Aren’t you going to help Chan and Changbin pack up?” Minho asked Jisung, plucking the cigarette from between his lips and slipping into his own mouth. He lit it, blowing a cloud of smoke at Jisung with a smile. 

“No,” Jisung replied firmly. He put his hand on the small of Minho’s back, nudging him. “Let’s go. I’m tired.”

They made their way back to Jisung’s apartment and the rest of the night was the same as always. The cigarette they shared was too much and not enough for the both of them. It was late, late enough that Minho’s entire body felt like it was floating, like it didn’t belong to him anymore. It was Jisung’s now, really, with all the feverish kisses and desperate touches he exchanged with him. As always, he wondered if Jisung was his, too.

It became unbearable, the way Jisung’s droopy eyelids stared back at Minho through the blue ribbon of smoke. Minho’s fingers always twitched, aching to curl around the warm touch of Jisung’s digits, to let them intertwine until their bodies became an unrecognizable tangle. 

“Minho,” Jisung said suddenly. 

“Yes?”

There was a moment before Jisung replied. Minho watched him open his mouth, only to close it again. He held his breath as he watched Jisung lift his fingers to Minho’s forehead, brushing the hair from his eyes before lazily trailing his fingertips along Minho’s jaw. His eyes never once met Minho’s gaze.

“Minho,” Jisung whispered again this time. “You should go.”

His voice was thick, sleep only a blink away. There was a pang in Minho’s heart. He wanted to beg Jisung to let him stay and sleep in his arms. But Minho had his limits, he knew his boundaries. So again he pushed himself out of Jisung’s bed, put his clothes back on, trying not to look at Jisung as he lit another cigarette. His limbs felt heavy but he managed to walk himself to Jiung’s front door, vaguely aware of Jisung trailing behind him.

“Minho.”

He turned around. A part of him hoped he would say those words finally - _Will you stay?_ They stared at each other, Minho’s lip trembling as he waited for Jisung to say something. He leaned with one hand on the doorframe and the other in his already messy hair and it was so obvious that he was trying to look everywhere but at Minho. 

“Jisung, what’s the matter?”

Finally, Jisung met his gaze. His stare was intense, dark, unreadable. It was so different from the bright and warm Jisung that Minho knew. That Minho loved. 

“Minho, I’m moving.”

Minho blinked. He tried to shake away the cool layer of frost that was beginning to coat the inside of his skin. “Oh. Where?”

Jisung glanced at him, and Minho knew. He was going away, far away to a place where Minho couldn’t reach him. Minho hated him for it. He didn’t have to say anything more, and Minho wished he wouldn’t, but he continued. “I have to go to Malaysia. My parents need me there.”

That was the part that hurt Minho the most. He couldn’t even be mad that Jisung was leaving because it was to help his family, and how could Minho possibly resent him for that?

“When are you leaving?” Minho asked. His voice sounded so small, like he was a child again. 

“My flight is in two days.”

Minho nodded. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Minho,” Jisung said. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to make you upset.”

Minho wanted to grab Jisung, wanted to press himself against the warm shell of his body and curl up there forever. But instead, he gave Jisung a small smile. 

“Why would I be upset? We’re just friends, Jisung,” Minho replied. There was a flash of something across Jisung’s face, but it disappeared just as quick. “I hope you have a safe flight.”

“We’ll still talk,” Jisung said quickly. “I won’t be gone for that long. I’ll be back.”

Maybe it was because Minho chose not to believe it, but something about Jisung’s words didn’t seem to be true. 

And at first, it was true. They texted each other frequently. Minho would wake up and his first thought would be _Jisung Jisung Jisung Jisung_ and he would go to sleep with his last thought being _Jisung Jisung Jisung Jisung_. He would go throughout the day and his phone burned in his pocket, his fingers itched to check it every five minutes. 

Jisung would send him photos of the city he was in, or his parents’ house, or the stray cats that would come to the front gate every morning. He’d send messages reminding Minho to eat and drink water, he would make jokes about Chris and Changbin. Sometimes he’d tell Minho that he missed him and that he wanted to do things to him. Minho never responded to those messages. 

By the time four months passed, there was no sign that Jisung was coming back, and Minho’s heart could only take so much. His university dance classes could only distract him for so many hours, so he begged Chris to ask his manager to hire him at the cafe he worked at. Soon Minho was spending less and less time waiting for those messages and pictures from Jisung, spending less and less time worrying about whether his own replies were too needy or emotional or emotionless. 

Still, Jisung was always in the back of his mind, and the shape of him would always be there in Minho’s dreams.

After six months, he told himself to stop being so dramatic. It wasn’t like he and Jisung had been dating. They were friends who fucked each other sometimes, that was it. He didn’t need to feel this immense aching in his chest. He didn’t mean to fall in love with Jisung, and now he didn’t know how to fall out.

He didn’t know when the aching started to dull until it became nothing but a tiny throb whenever Chris or Changbin would mention him. Soon Han Jisung was nothing but a name in his phone that he scrolled past quickly.

 _And then_.

Minho didn’t mean for it to happen. He didn’t mean to look up and see those familiar dark eyes staring at him. He didn’t mean to take his order, fingers shaking as he punched it into the computer. He didn’t mean to start laughing as they talked while he made his coffee. He didn’t mean to brush his fingers against the back of his hand, and he didn’t mean to blush, and he didn’t mean to tell him he didn’t have plans tonight. 

Or maybe he did.

But he did all those things, and now he found himself locking up the coffee shop with smoke from Jisung’s cigarette blowing in his face.

That familiar ache in his chest came creeping back up, consuming him from the pit of his belly, all the way up his neck, stopping in his throat. It wasn’t that Minho was unhappy to see Jisung, but what were you supposed to say to your almost-but-not-really lover that you hadn’t seen for a year?

“You look so good,” Jisung said suddenly, slinking his arms around Minho’s waist and burying his face between his shoulders.

Apparently that’s what you were supposed to say. 

Maybe it was because they hadn’t seen each other in so long, or maybe it was because Minho hadn’t been touched in weeks, or maybe it was the way Jisung’s hands were so warm against his skin. There were all these _maybes_ as to how Minho could have possibly found himself pressed between the fire of Jisung’s body and the ice of a metal bathroom stall in some dingy gas station they passed by. 

“I missed this,” Jisung murmured against Minho’s lips, trapping them between his teeth, starving and desperate. Minho’s hands were snaked in his hair, clawed their way down his back, anything to make him feel alive. 

Minho felt so, so alive.

Minho opened his mouth to say something in response, but gasped when Jisung bit down on his neck, feeling the swipe of Jisung’s tongue across the growing purple blossom. His hands scrambled up Jisung’s shirt, palms splayed against the canvas of Jisung’s torso. He grinded against Jisung’s thigh, desperate for his touch. Jisung’s hands gripped his ass, pulling them closer, and Minho drank up the groan that ripped from Jisung’s throat. 

“Tell me, baby, can I make you feel good? Just like I used to?” Jisung hummed, already reaching for the button of Minho’s jeans.

“Please,” Minho breathed.

Jisung moved quickly, pulling Minho’s jeans down in one swift movement. Minho leaned his head back against the stall. His chest heaved and he felt like there was electricity coursing through the length of his veins. Then he peered up, stared at the flickering fluorescent lights casting an eerie blue glow across the floor to ceiling tiles, and he noticed mold plastered on the ceiling. He turned his head, trailing his gaze down the cracks in the walls, letting himself study the grime coating the stall. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he would be somewhere else when he opened them again. When he did, all he saw was Jisung staring up at him.   
  


* * *

It was the time of night where all the decent restaurants were closed but none of the bars or clubs were open yet. That’s how they found themselves cramped into a booth in the corner of a small, run down noodle shop.

Minho was very aware of Jisung’s gaze on him as he picked at his food. He was very aware of the purple blossoms splayed across his neck, and he was very aware that those same blossoms were peppered across his hips and thighs. But the world didn’t need to know that. It was just the two of them who needed to know that.

He could feel the aching bubbling inside of him again, this time on the tip of his tongue. He threatened to spill open, his thoughts like a rush of water pounding against floodgates. Why was Jisung back? Did anybody else know? How long was he back for? Would he stay the night with Minho?

Minho didn’t let himself think too hard about the last one. The squeezing of his heart was too much to bear.

“Are you not hungry?” Minho suddenly asked, shoveling noodles into his mouth.

Jisung smirked. “I just like looking at you.”

Minho rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his fingers itched to curl around Jisung’s. He forced himself to watch Jisung as he took a bite of his own noodles, soup dribbling down his chin. They both looked around for napkins, but there was nothing but a half empty salt shaker. It threatened to spill onto Jisung’s shirt, so Minho scrambled to swipe it with the sleeve of his shirt. Jisung’s fingers pressed against Minho’s wrist, forcing his hand to stay like that against Jisung’s face. Minho’s breath hitched as they stared at each other, fire burning in both their bellies.

Finally it was Minho that pulled away.

“So you’re still gross after all this time,” Minho said.

“I’m not gross,” Jisung replied, his bottom lip jutting into a pout.

“If you say so,” Minho teased.

Jisung grumbled and took another bite of his noodles, which made Minho laugh. Jisung gave him a warm smile that made his stomach do flips.

“So,” Minho said, “you’re back for good?”

Jisung nodded slowly. “Yeah. Everything sorted itself out over there so I came back.”

“Aren’t you going to miss your family?”

Jisung shrugged. “I can always see them. My heart is here, though. This is home.”

There was a part of Minho that wanted to ask if he was Jisung’s home, if his heart was left here with Minho after all this time. But he knew better than to ask that. 

“When did you get back?” Minho asked. 

“Two weeks ago? It’s been taking me awhile to get everything back on track.”

“Have you seen anybody else? Do Chan or Changbin know you’re back?”

Jisung was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “Chan and Changbin both know I’m back, but you’re the first person I’ve seen.”

The silence around them was deafening in Minho’s ears. It only lasted a few moments, only a few beats of his heart, but it was enough that he wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair that Jisung could say these things to him that made his body yearn for him, that made his heart split open into fragments.

“I heard they’re playing tonight,” Jisung finally said. “Do you want to come with me to see them?”

As if Minho could say no. 

The night was still young, so by the time they got to the bar, only a few people had gathered around the stage where Chris and Changbin were busy setting up their equipment. It had been a while since Minho had seen Chris outside of work or school, even longer since he’d seen Chris and Changbin perform. A part of him felt bad for not being as invested in their music without Jisung, but there was no denying that Jisung had a fire inside of him that always burned brightest when he was on stage. Minho was a moth to that flame.

“Hey!” Chris shouted when he saw Minho and Jisung slink their way to the stage. “Look who it is!”

Changbin turned his attention from his amp, his face lighting up when he locked eyes with Jisung. He screeched and tackled Jisung, Chris following close behind. Minho stood awkwardly next to the stage, watching as Jisung’s face glowed from both seeing his friends and the stage lights above him. 

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Chris said once they pulled away from their embrace. “I would have prepared some of your tracks.”

Jisung shook his head, chuckling. “No, tonight is all about you two. I need to see what shenanigans you’ve been up to since I’ve been gone.”

“They’re all masterpieces,” Changbin boasted. “You’re going to wish you never left.”

This is where Jisung’s heart was. This is where his home was. 

Changbin pulled Jisung to the side to show him some of the stuff he was working on and Chris wrapped his arm around Minho’s shoulder. He squeezed, nudging the side of his thigh with his knee. 

“And how are you?” he asked.

Minho laughed, resting his head against Chris’ shoulder. “I’m fine. I’m excited to see you guys play! Why don’t you ever tell me that you’re playing?”

Chris shrugged. “I know that it isn’t the same without Jisung. I never wanted you to feel weird after he left.”

Minho frowned. “I was friends with you before I was friends with him, Chan. Who cares if he left? We weren’t _that_ close.”

Chris stared at him. He didn’t have to say anything for Minho to know what he meant. It was different with Jisung. Everything was different with Jisung. 

“Look, I know he’s back, but….” Chris paused, glancing over to where Jisung and Changbin bopped their heads to a song. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Minho. Like you said, you’ve been my friend for a long time and...if you’re not okay with just being friends with Jisung, you should tell him. Don’t let him use you.”

“He doesn’t use me,” Minho replied too quickly. He knew it sounded hollow, empty, like he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

From the way Chris studied him, he knew that it hadn’t worked. He lifted his finger to Minho’s neck. “What’s this then?”

Minho tore his gaze away from him, looking back at Jisung, pretending as though the eyes on him weren’t begging him to be careful, weren’t trying to warn him to protect himself.

“You know you deserve -”

“Chan,” Minho interjected. “I appreciate it, I really do. But not now.”

Chris stared at him but Minho couldn’t read his eyes. Or maybe he pretended he couldn’t. Maybe it was easier to pretend that things were okay even though they weren’t. Isn’t that what people did all the time? Isn’t that what people were supposed to do?

Jisung came over to them then, another cigarette dangling from between his fingers already. He placed it between Minho’s lips before slinking his arm around his waist, leaning comfortably against the curve of Minho’s body. 

“You guys are going to kill it,” Jisung smiled at Chris.

Chris smiled. “Obviously.”

Minho knew that Chris was right: their performance was just not the same to him without Jisung. They were both incredibly talented, but there was nothing pulling his eyes to the stage, no magnetic pull towards every move they made. Instead, his attention was focused on Jisung next to him, hyper aware of every bump and breath that the other boy made. Every time he took a shaky drag from the cigarette Jisung had given him, he felt like he was breathing in a part of Jisung, too. It was intoxicating, stronger than any drink or drug that he had ever had. 

It was so, so dangerous. 

“I missed this,” Jisung said, nodding towards the stage.

“Performing?” Minho asked. 

Jisung shook his head. “No, watching you watch them perform.”

Minho felt his throat close around the breath he took. “What do you mean?”

Jisung chuckled. He pulled out another cigarette from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers. “We can see you from the stage, you know. Whenever I was up there, I’d look at the crowd, and look for the person with stars in their eyes, and I’d know it was you. And it always made me smile.”

 _But Jisung_ , Minho wanted to say, _it’s always you with stars in your eyes. You are the brightest star of all._

“You can’t see my eyes from all the way up there, stupid,” Minho said. 

Jisung crooked his finger beneath Minho’s chin and pulled his face so they were staring at each other. “But I can see them from right here.”

It took everything in Minho not to kiss him right then and there. He felt his heart swell ten times, then burst open, only to start swelling again. Maybe they weren’t push and pull anymore. It was just pull pull pull. 

“Anyways,” Jisung said, letting his hand drop back to his side, “I missed seeing your reaction to each song. You always tap your fingers or your feet. You’re such a _dancer_. It’s cute.”

“Everyone taps their feet to songs,” Minho said. “It’s not cute.”

“Not everyone can do it as well as you do,” Jisung teased. He made a point of tapping his foot erratically and off-beat to the song. 

“I think you’ve got it down,” Minho teased. 

“Maybe we should add choreography to our performances,” Jisung mused. “Would you teach us how to dance?”

Minho blew a ribbon of smoke in Jisung’s face, only to drink it back up.

* * *

When the performance was done and the stage was cleared and people slowly trickled out of the bar, Minho watched as Jisung helped Chris and Changbin pack all their equipment away. He had offered to help, but they just laughed and joked that he didn’t know where anything would go. So Minho leaned against the bar, watching as the three of them talked and cracked jokes and acted as though Jisung hadn’t left for a year.

It seemed as though Jisung felt like he could just pick everything up from where he left it a year ago, as though he didn’t leave everything scattered. Or maybe it was just Minho who felt as though he’d been left scattered in a million pieces by Jisung, because Chris and Changbin talked to him as though he was still the same Jisung from a year ago. Or maybe nobody else thought that Jisung had changed. Maybe Minho was actually the one who changed. 

“What are you guys doing after this?” Changbin asked once everything was packed and hauled into the back of his car.

“I have to work in the morning so I’m going home,” Chris said. He nodded at Jisung and Minho, who sat on the curb. “What about you two?”

“I’ll probably just chill,” Jisung said. He glanced over at Minho.

“Me too, probably,” Minho said. 

Chris studied him again and Minho couldn’t help but stare back. 

“Well, I hope you guys get home safe,” Chris said finally. He turned to Jisung. “Text me when you’re free next, yeah? We’ll go over the songs you’ve made and see how we can work them into the next album.”

Everyone waved goodbye and it was just Jisung and Minho again.

If Minho was smart, he would tell Jisung he was going home, thank him for seeing him, tell him he was glad he’d come back. If he was smart, he would walk to the further subway station so that Jisung would follow him, and he’d get on the subway back to his tiny apartment on the other side of the city, and he’d try not to think about Jisung as he shut his eyes. But Minho wasn’t smart, so he stood there with his hands in his pockets, watching as Jisung pulled out another cigarette and lit it, never taking a drag of it, just watching it burn.

“The show was good,” Minho said. 

Jisung nodded. “They’ve done really well. I’m really proud of them.”

“They’re proud of you, too,” Minho said without thinking. Then, he added quickly, “Was it weird seeing them perform without you?”

Jisung shook his head. “I used to watch them perform together at the music department showcases. They’ve always been incredible. I hope I can be as good as them one day.”

Minho wanted to tell him that he was just as good, if not more spectacular. He would never tell Chris or Changbin know that, of course, but he thought it. 

“You’re really talented,” Minho told him, “so I’m sure you’ll be just as good as them. Maybe even better.”

Jisung was quiet. Minho stared at the cigarette that dangled between Jisung’s fingers, watching as the embers burned closer and closer to his skin, watching as the smoke drifted around them like all the unspoken words they’d left in their hearts. He wanted to feel the warmth of Jisung’s hand against his, to feel the ridges of his palm pressed against his own once more. 

“Are you going to go home?” Jisung asked. 

Minho shrugged. “I should.”

Jisung nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s late.”

“Are you going to go home?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung admitted. “I don’t know if I want to.”

“Why not?” Minho asked.

Jisung shrugged again. Slowly, he weaved his hand with Minho’s, their fingers interlocking like a key in a door. Out of habit, Minho stroked the back of Jisung’s hand with his thumb. Jisung smiled, which made Minho’s heart leap.

“Do you, um, want to come over?” Jisung asked.

“And do what?” Minho asked. He tried to ignore the way Jisung’s knee knocked against his own, the way his skin burned at where their legs touched.

“Anything,” Jisung replied, taking a long drag of the cigarette. “Talk, smoke, watch movies. I don’t care, I just….”

He went quiet again. Minho glanced at him. He watched the way Jisung’s hand rested against his knee, the way he chewed the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes fluttered when they met Minho’s, like he was a baby seeing the sun for the first time. 

“You missed me,” Minho breathed.

Jisung blinked, but he nodded slowly. He leaned his head against Minho’s shoulder, nuzzling his nose into the side of his arm, taking a deep breath. As Minho wrapped his arm around Jisung, pulling him a little too tight against his body, he wondered if Jisung had missed him in the same way Minho had. Did he miss him with every crack in his bones, every dip of his muscles, every raspy breath? Did his fingers claw at the bed in the same way Minho’s had all those nights? Did his eyes ache to see his face as soon as he woke up and right before he fell asleep? Did his lips long to breathe his name again?

_And so._

Like so many of those nights a year before, Minho found himself standing in front of the doorway of Jisung’s apartment, this one three blocks away from the old one, staring at the younger boy as he shimmied the keys in the lock. Wondering what Jisung was thinking. Wondering what he was doing here, what Jisung wanted. Wondering what _he_ wanted. He thought of Chris’ words at the bar. _Don’t let him use you_. 

Was Minho just a toy? Did he let himself just be a toy?

“Sorry it’s kind of messy. I still haven’t finished organizing everything,” Jisung said when he finally pushed the door open. They tumbled in, kicking their shoes off. 

It was strange because the apartment was so new, but the familiarity oozed through the cracks of the blinds and dripped from the faucet. Minho remembered everything from Jisung’s old apartment: he remembered the rickety shoe rack and the bookshelf with the peeling paint and the coffee table with a wobbly leg; he remembered the always lingering smell of the vanilla-scented candles and the acoustic guitar case covered in stickers and the milk crate of vinyl records. Everything was almost the same except for the Jisung in front of him and the way he felt inside. This Jisung was more familiar, softer, more like home. 

“Do you want something to drink?” Jisung asked. “I think I have juice.”

“I’m okay,” Minho said, pretending to be distracted by the albums on the bookshelf. He ran his fingers across its peeling paint, touching the spots he used to feel when he wished Jisung would let him stay longer. 

It had only been a year, but it felt like a lifetime ago. 

He felt Jisung’s arm around his waist, felt the curve of his smile against the back of his neck, and he melted into the touch. He let his head fall back against Jisung’s shoulder, letting his eyes flutter shut as Jisung pressed a kiss against his eyelids. Minho turned around, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s neck as he leaned back against the bookshelf. He studied the rounds of Jisung’s cheeks, the dips of his eyes, the cracks in his lips. Jisung smiled, pressing their foreheads together.

These were the moments that Minho craved the most.

“Minho,” Jisung whispered. “I’ve missed you. Tell me how you’ve been.”

Where could Minho start? Should he start by telling him that he was angry he left? Or that he meant to ignore the messages he would send? Or that he wished Jisung would keep messaging him anyways? Should he start by telling Jisung how much he had missed him? Or about how long it took for him to forget him? Or how he could never really forget about him at all? 

“I’ve been good,” is all Minho could say. 

Jisung lifted a brow. “Just good?” he asked. He laced his fingers with Minho’s, dragging him to the small mattress that lay in the corner of the room. They lay on their sides facing each other, only a foot apart but it felt like an entire ocean was between them.

“I got a job,” Minho said. “I work at the cafe with Chan.”

“I know,” Jisung giggled. “I saw you.”

Minho smacked his arm, earning a gummy smile from Jisung. He really didn’t know how he’d survived so long without having that light in his life.

“Do you have any wild stories from Malaysia?” Minho asked. “How’s your family?” 

“They’re good,” Jisung said softly. “I mostly helped my dad with his business. My mom missed me a lot and called me like every ten minutes every day. It was nice, though.”

Minho laughed. “Tell her not to worry, I’m sure Chan and Changbin are going to be blowing up your phone at all hours trying to get the next EP put together.”

Jisung pouted. “Are you saying you’re not going to always call me asking where I’ve been?”

Minho pinched Jisung’s cheek. “Don’t speak so soon, Sungie. You’ll get tired of me soon enough.”

Jisung shook his head. Minho trailed his fingers along his arm, tracing small circles against his skin. It was so warm, yet he noticed that Jisung shivered. 

“So,” Jisung began again, shimmying closer to Minho, “have you, um, been seeing anyone?”

Minho wanted to laugh. He wanted to take Jisung’s face between his hands and shout at him about he had never wanted to see another person since he met Jisung, wanted to shout about could he possibly be seeing anybody when he was hopelessly foolishly in love with him? 

But they were just friends, and friends didn’t say those things to friends.

“I was seeing a few people a few months ago,” Minho said, trying not to let himself feel bad when he saw the flash of pain in Jisung’s eyes, “but I haven’t been seeing anyone for a while.”

Jisung nodded. Suddenly, he looked so small, and Minho wanted to cradle him in the palm of his hand. He wanted to stroke his hair and tell him it was okay, Minho wasn’t going anywhere. He would always be Jisung’s, his heart would always be with Jisung. Because really, Minho knew in the bottom of his heart that there would always be a part of him left in Jisung. No matter how far away they were, Minho had given himself to Jisung so long ago.

“Were you seeing anyone in Malaysia?” Minho asked. His voice was barely a whisper, the air around them growing heavier. 

“No,” Jisung sighed. “I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

He didn’t say anything. Minho waited, wanted to see if he could say the words back. He needed to know if those three words would spill from Jisung’s lips, tumble into Minho’s heart where they would stay nestled between his ribs forever.

Of course, he just stayed silent. But he sat up, and Minho watched as he stared down at him, looking at the way his hair fell into his eyes. He noticed the blush dusting the tops of his cheeks, the dab of sweat across his brow. Without thinking, Minho lifted his fingers to Jisung’s jaw, letting them stay pressed there. He let himself brush his thumb along the edge of his mouth, gasping when Jisung brushed his hand against Minho’s wrist.

“So pretty,” Jisung murmured.

“Stop,” Minho said. Then, “What else did you do in Malaysia?”

“I wrote a lot of songs.”

“Did you write any about me?” 

“Of course,” Jisung smiled. 

Minho hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath until then. Jisung just stared at him, his eyes heavy and his heart heavier on his sleeve. 

The air hung around them in a thick blanket, warm and heavy from the heat of their bodies. Moonlight seeped through the cracks in the blinds of the window and spilled onto the cascades of Jisung’s face. Minho slowly dragged his finger across the dips of Jisung’s eyes, over his cheeks, down the line of his nose. His gaze finally settled on the plush pink of Jisung’s lips again, parted slightly. Warm breath fanned across the slow drag of Minho’s finger on Jisung’s mouth, hitching slightly, making Minho’s breath catch in his throat. He let his hand drop to the exposed area of skin on Jisung’s chest, continuing to trace patterns on his body. Through his shirt, Minho could feel the warmth emanating from where he touched Jisung’s skin, and it coursed through his veins.

It was like time stopped for a moment, as though they owned the universe in the palm of their hands. It was like Jisung had never left, as though they had always been cradled in the tangle of each other’s bodies. 

Jisung just stared at him, his eyelids fluttering closed. He lay back down beside Minho, this time on his back, and he hummed every so softly to a tune that Minho didn’t recognize. As the air grew thicker still, Minho’s movements across Jisung’ skin lulled, and soon he wrapped himself around Jisung’s body so his back was pressed against Minho’s chest. A small whine rose from inside Jisung’s chest as he grabbed Minho’s wrist.

“Why did you stop?” Jisung complained. “Keep going. It feels nice.”

Minho chuckled, warm breath against the shell of Jisung’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Slowly, Minho splayed his palm against Jisung’s chest, moving it in circular motions across his torso. Jisung let out a happy sigh and melted back into Minho’s touch. 

“Sing to me baby,” Minho whispered.

A smile tugged at Jisung’s lips. The song began as a low hum from deep in his chest, but soon a sweet melody filled the space between them. And Minho knew. Everything he’d felt for a year without Jisung and for years before that when they were still friends, Jisung felt it, too. 

“Can I kiss you, Minho?” Jisung whispered suddenly, only breaths away from Minho’s lips. 

“Jisung,” Minho whispered back.

A fire grew in both their chests. The only thing between the beating of their hearts was the canvas of their skin, warm and sticky sweet with sweat. Minho’s heart skipped at the whine that escaped Jisung’s lips when he pulled away from his mouth, only to leave a trail of wet kisses along Minho’s jaw that said _I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m staying._

There was nothing else in the world except for Minho’s hands against the expanse of Jisung’s back, nails digging into his skin, desperately clawing to get their bodies as close as possible. It had been too long, their bodies too far apart, and they were finally coming back together like pieces of a puzzle. Jisung licked down the dip of Minho’s neck, nipping at the crevice just above his collar bone. Minho’s breath caught in his throat, the warmth in his belly growing hotter. 

He couldn’t believe he’d gotten so lucky.

After another soothing flick of Jisung’s tongue against the purple blossoms on Minho’s neck, Jisung’s mouth continued further down his chest, fingers unbuttoning Minho’s shirt. Everywhere he touched Minho’s skin felt like it was on fire. He kissed all over the map of Minho’s body, and Minho’s fingers tugged at Jisung’s hair.

This is how they were push and pull. Jisung was a wildfire, ready to consume as fast as he possibly could, nothing able to stop him until he was satisfied. Minho was the sea, calm and calculating, taking his time to build himself up before he crashed like a wave.

But right now Minho wanted nothing more than to have Jisung leave a garden of marks on his skin, wanted nothing more than to have Jisung’s fingers dig into him, wanted nothing more than Jisung to fuck him until there was no air left in his lungs. And Jisung knew this, knew the way Minho wanted things. But he’d been away for so long, and didn’t want to miss an ounce of Minho. Minho knew this, and it drove him insane.

“Jisung,” Minho whined as Jisung raked his hands gingerly up and down his sides. He hooked his fingers against the waistband of Minho’s underwear, inching it down slowly.

“Hmm,” Jisung hummed against Minho’s hip. 

“Please do something,” Minho murmured. He opened his mouth to beg some more but gasped at the warm breath against the front of his boxers. 

Jisung chuckled, low and hearty from his chest. He pushed himself up so he was staring down at Minho, smiling at the blush and sweat across his cheeks. His lips were angry red and swollen, his hair both sticking to his forehead and splayed across the pillow. Jisung pressed his lips against Minho’s again, cooing at the softness before licking into his mouth. 

He held himself up on one arm while their lips moved with a lazy familiarity, trailing his other hand down the valleys of Minho’s body until he reached the bulge against Minho’s briefs. With ghosting fingers again, he began to palm the fabric, drinking in the moan from Minho’s mouth. 

“I missed you so much,” Jisung murmured against his mouth. “Did you miss me too?”

“I need you,” Minho groaned, hooking his arms around Jisung’s neck. “ _Please_ , Jisung.”

He hissed when Jisung’s hand finally tugged his underwear past his hips, fingers curling around his length. Calm and collected Minho couldn’t help the moan that ripped from his throat as Jisung began kissing down his thighs.

“So pretty,” Jisung mumbled against Minho’s hip. “You sound so pretty, feel so nice in my hand. I bet you would feel so nice in my mouth, wouldn’t you, baby?”

Minho tried to form coherent words, but they caught in his throat as Jisung moved quickly and took his length into his mouth. He moved slowly at first, relaxing his throat to take as much of Minho as he could before hollowing his cheeks and sucking back. His palms rubbed soothing circles into Minho’s thighs to try and still him, and Minho did try his best to stay still, but Jisung’s mouth was so warm and wet and tight around him, he couldn’t help but buck his hips up into his touch. 

Minho’s head was spinning and he felt like his lungs were on fire but he slowly fucked himself into Jisung’s mouth. Like his thoughts, his movements were erratic and quick and messy. Jisung didn’t mind though, just tried his best to keep himself grounded, to keep Minho grounded. Every so often Minho would hit the back of Jisung’s throat and he’d moan around him. The hums and gasps that Minho made were more beautiful than any song Jisung could ever write.

Minho’s own mouth hung open, blabbering mindlessly, and he quickly grabbed Jisung’s hand, pulling his fingers into his mouth. They locked eyes for a moment as Minho hummed, sucking and swirling his tongue between Jisung’s digits. Jisung moaned at the thought of Minho’s tongue against his own cock, which strained painfully against his boxers, and he rut against nothing, desperate for some sort of contact. 

“Jisung,” Minho whimpered lazily around his fingers, “baby, you feel so nice. Please fuck me, please.”

He was almost shocked at how whiny his voice sounded in his ears. He hadn’t heard himself talk like that in so long, not since he and Jisung had last seen each other. Jisung hummed one last time before pulling off. Minho sighed at the loss, then gasped when Jisung’s mouth crashed against his. His head was spinning and everything felt too warm, too loud, too close. His fingers tangled with Jisung’s as they scrambled to peel the clothes from Jisung’s body, finally managing to throw them somewhere across the room. Minho stared at him, his eyes trailing up the canvas of Jisung’s body until he finally met those dark eyes he’d missed so much, before he wrapped his arms around Jisung’s neck.

“Kiss me, baby,” Jisung murmured. 

And Minho did. It was messy, all teeth and spit and tongue. He was ravenous, drinking in as much of Jisung as he could, fully aware that he would probably pay the price later when he packed his things and made the lonely trek back to his apartment. But all that mattered to him right now was the beautiful, sparkling man in front of him.

“Minho,” Jisung breathed, his lips making a messy trail from Minho’s mouth and across his jaw, down his neck, settling in the spot right below his jawline.

“Jisung,” Minho whined back, leaning his back further to give him more access. His skin was on fire and Jisung just stoked the embers more as his teeth sunk into his flesh before sucking soothingly on the spot. A high pitched mewl escaped Minho’s throat and he clamped his hand over his mouth. 

“Baby,” Jisung murmured, and his fingers intertwined with the hand on Minho’s mouth, pushing it above his head. “Baby, I need to hear you.”

Another whine fell from Minho’s lips. Jisung pulled away from his neck and Minho had to remind himself how to breathe. Jisung reached into a box beside the bed and pulled out a small bottle of lube. He liberally coated his fingers and rubbed them together to warm it up. He watched Minho as he reached between his legs, his fingers pressing against Minho’s rim. Minho grabbed at his arms, trying to steady the beating of his heart and the thoughts swirling around his mind. The electricity coursing through his veins was so static that he felt like he was going to burst at the seams. He didn’t even notice the tears fall down his face until Jisung leaned over and pressed his lips against his temple. 

“Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?” Jisung whispered. With his other hand, he caressed Minho’s cheek so gingerly that it felt like a butterfly’s wings. 

“No, please don’t stop,” Minho said, leaning into Jisung’s touch. “Please, Jisung I-I need you. I’ve needed you.”

Jisung smiled at him. “I know.”

He pressed another kiss against Minho’s temple before leaning back. Minho held his breath as he watched Jisung concentrate on the space between them, fingers digging into Jisung’s flushed skin as he eased his finger past the tight ring of muscle. They’d had sex with each other countless times, yet every time Jisung did anything, it felt exhilerating. 

As Jisung pumped his finger in and out slowly, Minho took the time to really stare at the boy he’d missed so much. He still looked exactly the same as he always had: his hair still stuck to his forehead in some places, his eyes still had that devilish darkness, his entire body still had that cherry-pink blush across it. Somehow, though, there was something so different about the Jisung in front of him now. And maybe it was because they’d been an ocean apart for so long, but it felt like this is where Jisung always belonged.

“You’re still okay?” Jisung asked, rubbing soothing circles on Minho’s thigh. Minho nodded, gasping when he felt a second finger prod against him. 

“Ah, Jisung,” he hissed, his eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaved and his body ached for Jisung to go faster, harder, _right now_ _right there_. He was so used to Jisung consuming him in a matter of minutes, but now he was burning slowly and the burn was excruciating.

It was when Jisung added a third finger and curled that Minho felt fireworks explode inside of him. He writhed beneath Jisung’s touch, gasping for air, muttering a string of incoherent words even he couldn’t make out. Jisung just pumped his fingers in and out so slowly, always pressing against that spot, his gaze never faltering from Minho’s eyes.

Minho was going to die before this even started.

He finally pulled his fingers out of Minho’s ass, reaching for a condom and slipping it on before positioning himself between Minho’s thighs. Something about his gaze pulled Minho in, never once falling from Minho’s eyes as he slowly pressed himself past that muscle. Minho gasped, clutching at the back of Jisung’s neck to remind himself that this was real, that Jisung was really in front of him and _inside_ of him. It was only when Jisung bottomed out completely that he broke away from Minho’s gaze as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

“God, Minho,” Jisung moaned, burying his face in the crook of his neck again. “Minho, I’ve _missed_ you so much.”

He said Minho’s name like he was worshipping a god. His hands came together around Minho’s thighs in prayer, wrapping them around his waist before he shallowly thrust himself in and out of Minho, his name continuing to fall from his lips as though they were a mantra. Minho’s own mouth pressed against Jisung’s shoulder as though it were a holy cup, biting and kissing and sipping every last drop of godly essence he could as Jisung fucked into him. 

If this was heaven, then surely Minho was saved. 

Jisung’s thrusts grew faster, stronger, his breathing heavier. He pulled away from Minho’s neck to stare at Minho’s face, running his thumb along the edge of his mouth. “So pretty,” he murmured, his voice so far away it was like he was talking to himself. 

“Do I look pretty for you?” Minho breathed, his own hips meeting Jisung’s thrusts. His mouth fell open at the way Jisung’s eyes squeezed shut, fucking harder into Minho. 

“Always, baby,” Jisung said, smiling. “Always so pretty for me. And just for me, right? Only for me?”

Minho tried his best to nod, but his lips wobbled and he could feel the tears start rolling down his cheeks again. Jisung tried to brush them away with his thumb but Minho just crashed their mouths together instead, breathing in the breathy moan that ripped from Jisung’s throat. 

“You can’t leave me again,” Minho sobbed against Jisung’s lips. “You can’t leave.”

“I’m here to stay, baby,” Jisung promised. “I’ve got you, baby, don’t worry.”

His words were dangerous, Minho knew this. They could mean anything. His heart ached at the thought of leaving when this was all over, of having to leave Jisung lying alone as he slumped into his own bed across town. It made him angry, so angry that he sobbed again, and he pushed Jisung off of him. Before Jisung could react, Minho crawled into his lap, taking him in all at once and earning a guttural moan from Jisung.

“Jisung,” Minho breathed as he moved his hips erratically, his fingers digging into the skin of Jisung’s shoulders. He could feel Jisung’s hands crawl up his back, pulling him closer until Jisung’s mouth was pressed against Minho’s chest. Minho sighed and leaned his head back as he felt the open-mouthed kisses against his skin. He could feel the aching in his belly grow stronger, hotter, ready to snap like an elastic band. 

He tugged Jisung’s head back, forcing the other boy to look at him, and he couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of him. Here was his Jisung, his sunbeam of a boy and wildfire of a man, right beneath his touch. Both his hands cupped Jisung’s face, gripping onto him like he was a precious jewel he couldn’t let go. And Jisung stared up at him like he was in awe, like he was staring at an angel, and Minho didn’t think he deserved to be looked at like that, not when Jisung was the man that gave him so much life. 

“Minho,” Jisung moaned, his fingers suddenly curling around Minho’s aching cock. “Minho Minho Minho.”

Minho’s breathing was nothing but whines and mewls and whispers of Jisung’s name as Jisung stroked him to the rhythm of his thrusts. His legs were aching as he rode Jisung but the need to chase the fire in his belly burned stronger. 

“Jisung,” he whined, “I- _ah_ -I’m so close.”

In a swift motion, Jisung pushed him back again, his hands trapping Minho’s own arms next to his head. They pressed their mouths together but neither of them could do much more than breathe in each other’s moans and whines.

“God, Minho, you feel so nice baby, always feel so nice,” Jisung murmured against Minho’s mouth, trying to kiss him but failing miserably. “I’m going to come, is that okay? I’m so close, baby, so close.”

“Come for me, Jisung, please.”

Jisung breathed heavily then lifted his head to stare at Minho again. His eyes were dark, hooded, and desperate. His thrusts were faster, more erratic and out of pace as he chased his orgasm. Soon he let out a groan and his eyes fluttered.

“God, Minho, I love you,” he moaned.

And there it was. The spark that Minho had been waiting for all this time. 

It was like a bomb exploded inside of him. As Jisung chased the high of his own orgasm, Minho gasped and felt the tension in his belly snap as he came with Jisung’s name on his tongue. The fire coursed through his veins as he chased his own high, his head spinning and the air struggling to fill his lungs. 

They lay there breathless in a tangle of sweat and cum and words left unspoken and words that had tumbled out. Minho’s heart slammed against his chest and he vaguely felt Jisung press a kiss against his cheek before rolling off of him. 

“Are you okay?” Jisung asked, brushing the hair away from Minho’s forehead. He pressed another kiss there, then another on the tip of his nose. He stood up from the bed and walked away for a moment before he came back with a damp cloth. He cleaned himself and Minho before lying back down, resting his hand on Minho’s chest, his thumb rubbing small circles against him. 

Minho felt like he was floating. There was nothing between them except for the shallow breaths they took. He stared up at Jisung, who was looking back at him with his head propped up on his elbow. His brows were knit together as he studied Minho.

“Are you even real?” Minho asked. 

Jisung chuckled, then leaned down to press his lips against Minho’s again. It was soft, so soft that Minho still wondered if he was imagining it. 

“I’m real, baby. You’re real,” Jisung said. “This is real.”

Minho nodded slowly, his brain slowly coming down from whatever cloud it had escaped to momentarily. Those words rolled around in his head again - _I love you_. No matter how many times they’d had sex before, Jisung had never said those words. The thought of it made Minho’s heart swell. 

But dreams can only last so long before they turn into nightmares, can’t they?

A year ago, this is when Jisung would have sat up, lit a cigarette, and watched as Minho sheepishly collected his things. Or sometimes, they would eat ramen and play video games for a while. Sometimes they’d fuck again. But at the end of it all, Minho would always end up wishing to hear those words, wanting to stay by Jisung’s side. 

Not everything can change in a year. But also so much can change in a year.

Minho pushed himself up, not letting himself look at Jisung. He blinked a few times, then reached around for his jeans. He felt Jisung’s hand on his back.

“What are you looking for?” Jisung asked. 

“My jeans,” Minho replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Why?”

“I need a cigarette,” Minho said. 

Jisung chuckled and reached back into the box beside his bed. He placed the cigarette between his own teeth and lit it, leaning forward to blow the smoke into Minho’s mouth. Minho blinked at him before Jisung handed him the cigarette, and took it with shaky hands. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

Silence washed over them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, and Minho wished it was. He wished that there was a thick cloak of discomfort between them, that they both realized they made a mistake and Minho could leave quickly before having to make awkward small talk. But the silence between them was warm, it was familiar. And he did know why, but tears threatened to spill from Minho’s eyes again.

Jisung moved closer to Minho, reaching out for him. “Minho, what’s wrong?”

Minho shook his head. He tried to stop the tears from falling, he really did, but all he could do was look away from Jisung and hope he couldn’t see. “Nothing’s wrong. I should go, yeah? Let me get my things.”

“Minho, wait.”

He ignored him and took a long, shaky drag from the cigarette before standing up. Jisung’s fingers caught his wrist, pulling him back down. They stared at each other, their faces just barely visible in the dark. Minho couldn’t help but think about how beautiful Jisung looked like this.

“Minho,” Jisung whispered, taking his face in his hands. 

“Jisung,” Minho whispered back. 

“Don’t go,” Jisung said. “Please, Minho, will you stay the night?”

“Stop. Don’t be cruel.”

Jisung looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. Minho knew he should have left right then and there, but he couldn’t now, not when Jisung was staring at him like that, not when Jisung’s arms wrapped around his body, not when Jisung felt so nice and warm curled around Minho. 

“Please don’t leave,” Jisung begged. His voice sounded shaky, like he was crying. “I’m sorry, Minho. I know I was mean and I’m sorry.”

“You fucked me for a year and a half and I fell in love with you and then you left me,” Minho murmured against Jisung’s chest. 

“I fell in love with you too, Minho,” Jisung admitted, “of course I fell in love with you, but I was scared and I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Both of their fires were burning out, Minho could feel it. And yet, he needed Jisung’s ravenous flames to keep his embers burning bright, just as Jisung needed Minho’s steady coals to keep him fueled. They really were push and pull, Minho knew this, and he couldn’t live without Jisung, not anymore. Not when he’d gotten a taste of him again. 

And so, they fell asleep like that, a tangle of worn out limbs and words unspoken. In the morning they would fall in love with each other all over again, maybe by accident or maybe by destiny. But for now Minho would stay the night, and that was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice comments! ^-^ Sorry this chapter is so short and quick, I just wanted to write something from Jisung's point of view really quickly.

Jisung was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t been oblivious all that time, not really. He’d long ago figured out that Minho was in love with him.

He figured it out when he’d first drunkenly kissed Minho for the first time in the back alley of a bar he’d been performing at. The drinks had been good, and their set had been horrible, and Changbin was vomiting, and Chris was cursing, and Minho was just standing there so Jisung had kissed him. He was surprised when Minho didn’t pull away, and he was surprised when he kissed Jisung back, and he was surprised at the way his name tumbled off Minho’s lips in a whisper. 

That’s when Jisung knew. 

He knew it still when later that week he’d kissed Minho again, this time in the darkness of his bedroom underneath the silver streaks of smoke and moonlight that spilled through his window. He knew it each time he watched Minho collect his things and he knew it each time he walked Minho to the door and he knew it each time his lips planted those final kisses goodnight. 

All this time he knew it. 

At first, it didn’t matter to him. He took advantage of it, really. He knew it was selfish of him, but he was young, and Minho was godly, and who was he to deny himself the pleasure of the divine? He’d known that Minho was in love with him and Jisung still fucked him all that time, still sent him home every night, only to do it again and again. 

He wasn’t really sure when he started falling, too.

Maybe it was only after Jisung had left for Malaysia, or maybe it was that night they’d kissed for the first time, or maybe it was when Minho had spilled chocolate milk all over the studio floor. It didn’t matter, Jisung supposed, because his feelings for Minho hit him like a forest fire, consuming him too fast and too hot, so much that it scared him. 

When he had told Minho that he was going to Malaysia to help his family, it hadn’t been a complete lie. His parents missed him and his brother was starting graduate school and they were expanding their business so they needed an extra pair of hands to help set things up. When his mother had called him venting about it, of  _ course _ Jisung offered to help. 

He was just being a good son, that’s what he told himself. It was easier than to let himself accept that he’d developed feelings for Minho, that he needed to separate himself from Minho. He needed space away from this boy that he’d grown to depend on like he was air.

But denying yourself only lasts for so long, and after a few months in Malaysia, Jisung found his heart aching for the boy back home. Yes, a part of him missed the sex, and missed the attention, and missed the kisses, but most of all he missed the way Minho smelled, and his smile, and the sound of his laugh, and the way he blinked too often, and the taps of his feet or fingers to any type of beat. He missed the way the light always caught in his eyes just right, and the way he hummed when he was interested in something, and the way he waddled when he walked. 

So he had come home, back to where his heart belonged.

Now, he watched Minho from across his room, marvelling at the way the candle light cast a warm glow across the soft dust of blush on his cheeks. 

Watching him, Jisung ached. He ached for all those months that he’d spent breaking Minho’s heart, and he ached for all the months he’d denied himself the pleasure of showering Minho with love. But he was younger then, more foolish and afraid of the world. 

He was still foolish now, in this room, too crowded with so many questions left unanswered.

Jisung crossed the room slowly. It felt like he was crossing an ocean. Minho was standing on the balcony, the fire of his cigarette lighting up the contours of his cheeks and nose as he inhaled. He was beautiful like this, Jisung thought, with nothing but the faint glow of the embers on his face and the spring breeze running through his hair and the city lights sparkling in his eyes. 

He reached out for Minho’s hand, feeling the softness of his palm against his, feeling the warmth of a thousand suns searing into his skin where they connected. The curve of Minho’s back fit comfortably against his chest, and he sighed as he let his chin rest in the dip where Minho’s shoulder met his neck.

“You can’t sleep?” Jisung asked softly. He didn’t mean for his voice to come out almost like a whisper. He didn’t mean for it to sound so small. 

Minho just nodded, folding himself into the crook of Jisung’s body. Like a tree’s roots, Jisung wrapped around Minho, cradling him tighter against his chest. Jisung could feel the storm of emotions that Minho had kept inside for so long spilling from the cracks in his facade and he wanted so badly to fill those cracks with gold and make Minho sparkle again.

Minho turned around so he was facing Jisung. They stared at each other as their limbs wrapped around each other’s waists. Minho tilted his head to one side, then the other, dragging his fingers across Jisung’s cheeks. It made Jisung’s heart ache.

“I missed you so much,” Minho finally said. It came out in a breath, like all the air in his lungs had been drained long ago. 

Jisung didn’t know what he could do, so he pressed his mouth to Minho’s, desperately trying to fill those lungs again, to make Minho whole once more. 

But people can’t put other people back together so easily, and flames can never burn as hot as they once did.

Minho pushed Jisung away slightly and Jisung tried his best not to cry. He kept his eyes locked on Minho, desperately searching for any sign of the embers that once burned so hot for him. Minho stared back at him, his eyes sparkling and far away like the stars in the sky. 

“All that time, did you miss me, too?” Minho asked, the question tumbling out like a wave crashing against a cliff. 

Jisung didn’t mean to start crying, but here was this beautiful boy in front of him, so hurt and so desperate to be loved. Jisung loved him back, he loved Minho so badly that his chest ached, but was it enough? Was it enough to love someone in the darkness of your bedroom under the watchful gaze of the moon? Was it enough to love someone under the veil of cigarette smoke and a vanilla flame? Was it enough to love someone from afar while they carried all the stars in the sky in their eyes?

The truth was, Jisung loved Minho like he was a god to be worshiped, praying for even the smallest taste of his divine essence. He craved Minho in every way: he craved his touch, his taste, his scent, his feeling. 

Like so many worshippers, Jisung was frightened of his god and the power he possessed. Jisung was tired of being afraid, yet he didn’t know how to be saved. How can one be saved from the rot inside your own body, a dark seed planted years ago now grown into prickly tendrils that stretch inside you, telling you it’s wrong to Love Like That? He knew of grown men who had spent their entire lives letting this rot consume them, forcing them to sneak into back alleys and crumbling hotel rooms with men they would never know the names of, consuming them until they didn’t even recognize their faces in the mirror anymore.

Jisung wanted to be saved, but where could he begin?

The truth was, ever since Jisung was young, he thought obsessively about someone loving him enough to come back to him, to smile at the thought of his lips curling towards his eyes and the feeling of his honey skin on their fingertips. He thought about someone loving him enough to press their mouth against his temple, ghosting but sweet, like it was their favourite taste to grace their tongue. He thought about someone loving him enough to watch him from afar, wondering what it was like to lie next to him at night, to count the constellations in his eyes and wonder why the stars in the sky even thought to compete.

But then he met Minho, and his thoughts shifted. He found himself thinking obsessively about the uneven curve of the corners of Minho’s mouth as it reached his eyes and the milky marble of his skin beneath his palm. He thought about the way Minho’s forehead always smelled and tasted like strawberries beneath his ghosting kisses. He thought about what it might be like to hold Minho in his arms through the night, to feel the warmth of his body and to count the galaxies in his eyes. 

He felt such immense love for Minho, so much so that he could never bring himself to ask him to stay the night. To do so would be too much of a confirmation, would be too much of an admission that all those years of longing glances towards his classmates and soft brushes of fingers against the back of hands during worship gatherings had been intentional.

All this time, Jisung kept telling himself that even if these moments with Minho weren’t real, even if this love between them was just for the night, for those fleeting moments until they were both breathless and coming down with each other’s names on their tongues, that it was enough for him. 

But he couldn’t fool himself anymore. He couldn’t fool anybody anymore.

Suddenly, the arms guiding him back to the bed felt so heavy, like a ship’s ropes holding everything together, tight but reassuring. The hands in his hair felt like warm summer wind combing through his locks, and the lips against his forehead felt like a butterfly’s wings. 

“Minho,” was all Jisung managed to say, his words coming out in a shaky breath as he curled himself tighter against his body. “Minho, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Minho whispered, the wobble of his own voice faint. Jisung could feel a drop of warm wetness drip from Minho’s eyes onto his own skin, smelled the salty sweet as it rolled down his face, meeting Jisung’s own tears at the tip of his nose. He felt Minho’s hands swipe quickly across his eyes, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his chin as he murmured and cooed at Jisung. It didn’t matter what he was saying, every sound that spilled from Minho’s mouth was magic to Jisung. 

“Minho, you know I love you, right?” Jisung sobbed. He pushed himself up and took Minho’s face between his hands, his eyes shaking as he scanned Minho’s. The other boy just blinked at him, his own eyes misty, a storm that had been raging for so long but was coming down. 

“Jisung, I-”

“I-I’m sorry, Minho, that I hurt you. I was...I was just afraid, and I’m still afraid,” he admitted, “but I know that if you’ll let me, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll learn and I’ll love you the way you deserve and the way you want.”

A smile threatened the corner of Minho’s lips.  _ Yes _ , Jisung thought, _ yes, please say yes. Please let me love you here and here and there and here.  _

“Don’t be afraid,” Minho whispered, wiping away the tears from Jisung’s face again. His fingers found Jisung’s, curled around them carefully, gingerly, like he was a broken tangle of roots. “It’s okay, baby, don’t be afraid.”

Jisung nodded. They lay there like that for a few moments more, Jisung tucked into the warmth of Minho’s body, Minho rocking them back and forth and humming faintly into Jisung’s hair. 

And again, Minho fell asleep first, his grip around Jisung’s waist only loosening slightly, and soon the younger boy fell asleep to the soft, shallow breaths that spilled from deep inside Minho’s chest. As Jisung slept, he dreamed, and in his dreams, Minho was there. 

He wondered if when he woke up to the white hot glare of the sun the next morning Minho would still be there. 


End file.
